Scheduled for Deletion
by A Beautiful Oblivion
Summary: They should've paid more attention to what was happening. The Templars have kidnapped Desmond and Lucy, and they want the Apple. They'll get it by any means necessary.
1. Chapter 1

**So I was watching _Die Another Day_ on the way back from skiing, and I thought, _Hmm, what if that happened to Desmond?_ So there's this. The title doesn't make much sense, I just really loved the scene with Sixteen and Desmond in _Revelations_ :3**

**Also, _Beautiful _is being gay (pun intended) and not giving me any inspiration. I'm sorry D:**

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><p>"What's going on...?" Desmond asked foggily as the ceiling of the Sanctuary came into focus. He looked to his left; Shaun was practically throwing papers and files into boxes, and Lucy typed frantically at her computer screen, apparently too restless to sit down, a determined yet panicked look on her face.<p>

To his right, Rebecca began unplugging everything she could reach as soon as she made sure he was disconnected. "Lucy thinks the Templars have a lead on our location."

"Well, that worked out so well last time," Desmond muttered to no one as he blinked a few times, trying to clear his head, then stood somewhat unsteadily, using the head of the Animus chair for support. Being pulled out abruptly was always worse than choosing to come out.

"Desmond, be a chap and _help_!" Shaun called tightly across the room; he'd finished stuffing papers into their box and had moved on to his computer.

Despite their situation, Desmond still grumbled as he crossed the space between the Animus and Shaun's desk. He hadn't been getting much sleep lately, and as a result he was irritated simply by the fact that Shaun had spoken to him as if he was a child or something.

"Reporting for duty," he muttered under his breath as he arrived at Shaun's desk. The historian looked up for half a second, clearly not too impressed, then gestured to his monitor. "Help me with this, will you?"

_Oh, you need help with your computer?_ Desmond asked him mentally as the monitor was unplugged. _Is it too heavy for you? You need the strong-yet-brainless Assassin to help?_

"Stop scowling or I _will _wipe it off your face," Shaun said firmly as he straightened up. "All right, bring it here."

Seething, Desmond lifted the monitor - it actually was pretty heavy - and lowered in into the box Shaun was holding.

"Wait," he pondered as he let go. "You can't carry the computer, yet you _can _lift it when it's in that box?"

Shaun raised his eyebrows. "I can carry it fine," he stated. "I just needed someone to put it in the box while I held it up. We could've switched roles, but I didn't want to be getting all sweaty, did I?" Then he casually began untacking pins and red string from his poster board.

"Shaun, this really isn't the time, don't you think?" Rebecca called while she loaded equipment onto dollies—which Desmond suspected he'd have to push.

"Well why don't _you_—?" Shaun began to fire back a retort, but Desmond held up his hand, listening intently.

"What the hell—?" Shaun tried again, but Desmond cut him off.

"Shh!" He titled his head, taking a small step toward the entrance. There were small noises floating down the passageway.

"You do realize that we'd be trapped like carrots if anyone were to come down here," Desmond whispered, remaining calm. Then, suddenly, he strode over to the statue of Altaïr and began shoving it to the side.

"_Now _what are you doing?" Shaun demanded.

"I don't know about you, but _I _want a way out of here," Desmond grunted between pushes, until the statue was moved far enough for a person to fit through. "See? Now I just saved us about thirty seconds if we need to get out in a hurry."

"'Get out in a hurry'," Shaun repeated, scoffing. "Why don't we just use the _front door _if we need to 'get out in a hurry'? Sure smells less up there."

"Who knows Shaun, you might thank me for this one day." Desmond shrugged, because he didn't really care any more.

Shaun scoffed again, then muttered something under his breath that sounded like "wanker" before continuing to pack.

Deciding he'd had enough of being made fun of, Desmond made his way around boxes to where Lucy stood bent over her computer, her chair sitting empty next to her leg.

"How are we doing?" Desmond asked quietly when she didn't react to his presence.

Without looking up, Lucy responded quickly, "Not too good. I'm pretty sure the Templars know we're here."

"Well, it took us a good day to drive here," Desmond assured her. "How fast could they possibly go?"

She just shook her head. "I'm not sure."

There were noises come from the entrance again, something like scuffling, and a small but there humming noise.

"I'll be right back," he said to no one in particular, moving cautiously to the bottom of the ramp.

"Desmond!" Lucy's sharp cry cut across the room; the bartender turned to find her standing up up straight with a not-too-pleased expression on her face. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"Uh... I heard a noise," Desmond explained lamely. "I was going to go check it out."

Lucy stole a quick glance at Rebecca and Shaun; they were both staring at the conflict. Hurriedly, the blonde strode over to Desmond and turned him toward the entrance.

"All right, look," she whispered briskly. "I didn't want to tell the others this, but there's nowhere else for us to go in Italy. And since the Templars are watching the border..." She trailed off, not wanting to say the words aloud.

But Desmond knew the rest. _We're pretty much screwed. _However, he slapped a smile on his face and was about to say something reassuring when movement over Lucy's shoulder caught his eye. He didn't know what it was, but as the smile faded from his face, he felt a chill pass up his spine.

Suddenly, an overwhelming need to _move _coursed through his body. Without words, Desmond pulled Lucy to the ground, scraping his hands and probably hers in the process, as the first bullet whizzed over their heads.

And then they were everywhere. Abstergo employees, with actual _guns _this time, not those wimpy sticks, began to swarm down the tunnel. As quickly as they'd gone down, Desmond and Lucy were back up again. Desmond started to back away, but his lower back hit the short wall beside the stairs. He turned around, panicked brain confused, to see Shaun hesitating at the statue. Desmond could tell he really wanted to get out of there.

"Go, Shaun!" the bartender hollered. Shaun shot him a look full of thanks and apologies, then slipped through the narrow passageway.

Desmond's eyes flicked to Lucy, who, for some unfathomable reason, was on her computer. She yanked a flash drive out of it, then called, "Becca, catch!"

Rebecca, who had been hurriedly fiddling with the Animus, looked up just as Lucy released the flash drive. The brunette snatched it out of the air, then pulled another flash drive from the Animus' computer. She tucked both into a pocket, then hurried toward the tunnel entrance, hesitating outside the statue.

Then they were on him. Four guards grabbed him, two on each arm. Desmond twisted around, his blade coming out of its sheath. He managed to get the metal into a guard's thigh, who cried out and fell away, but another replaced him.

Panting, Desmond raised his head to see Lucy was in a similar situation, but the guards at least hadn't grabbed her; they were just aiming their guns directly between her eyes. She had her arms in the air, and her eyes were wide, staring down the barrel of each pistol.

Desmond growled and heaved his body over the short wall, landing on his back on the table pushed next to the stairs. The guards fell away from him, and he quickly scrambled to his feet, blade shooting out of its sheath.

It didn't last long, however. Though Desmond had a height advantage over the guards, the Abstergo employees had weapons nine hundred years more advanced than his. They pointed their guns at his head, barking orders.

"Hands in the air!"

"Put that blade away!"

Desmond spun around, feeling like a trapped animal, finding whichever way he turned he'd be staring down the barrel of a gun. Just one of those guards needed an itchy trigger finger, and it'd all be over.

Slowly, defeated, Desmond's hands rose, his blade sliding back, retreating into its sheath. A guard jumped on the table and grabbed his left arm, fiddling with the buckles, while another grabbed his right in case he decided to try anything. Soon enough, his blade was confiscated, his hands behind his back, cuffs slapped on his wrists. He looked to his left to find Lucy in a similar situation. Rebecca was nowhere to be seen; she'd escaped.

Apparently, they weren't worth Vidic's time, because he never showed up. Instead, the two Assassins were tossed into the back of a truck, a guard with a much larger gun sitting on the only bench.

Desmond closed his eyes and felt every bump from where he sat against the wall closest to the driver. His hands were still bound, and he felt the maddening need to stretch, which clearly wasn't happening.

Lucy sat against the wall opposite him, cross-legged, staring at her legs, deliberately avoiding making eye contact. Neither of them had said a word since being captured, and now clearly wasn't the time; it looked like the employee guarding them was just itching to shoot one of them.

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><p><strong>Derp. I'll be posting two more chapters.<strong>

**Simpsons reference FTW.**


	2. Chapter 2

**And here's chapter two.**

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><p>When the van stopped, it was well into the afternoon; it had been around midnight when they'd left. The guard stood, and Desmond made a move to do the same - his legs were killing him - but the employee shot him a sharp look before withdrawing two black sacks, about the size of a basketball, from some unknown pocket.<p>

He first placed one on Lucy's head. She glared at him until her face was covered.

Then the guard moved to Desmond, and soon enough it was dark. He'd expected to see some sort of light through fabric - no cloth was truly solid - but nothing. For a brief moment, he wondered if he'd have enough air under here, but it was dismissed when he heard the door slide open.

Desmond was aware of his arm being grabbed, then he was roughly pulled to his feet. He walked about five steps before nearly falling out the back of the truck. Clearly, these guards didn't care whether he injured himself.

No wind, no real noises at all; they weren't outside. Footsteps echoed hollowly against the hard ground, and it was cold down here. Probably an underground parking lot. Maybe the same one he and Lucy had escaped out of.

They were led in a straight line - or what he judged to be one - for a couple minutes, until they stopped for a few seconds, then moved forward two steps before stopping again. A small shudder, and Desmond became aware they were moving upwards. Elevator.

It was deathly silent. No one spoke, moved, or even coughed until they came to a stop. Desmond was trying to figure out how many guards made up their escort when he was pulled forward again, almost tripping over his own feet.

And then they were just walking, no noises still other than the sound of Lucy's shoes clicking. None of the guards offered any kind of help to her, even though Desmond could tell she began to fall behind, and by the sound of her irregular footsteps, he guessed she was being practically pulled forward. Being captured can do a lot to a person, especially someone like Lucy, whom Desmond knew to be very optimistic that they'd find the Pieces of Eden before the Templars. Or maybe she knew some of these employees, perhaps even worked with them, knew their names, counted them as friends.

As they went along, Desmond tried to make a map of the building in his head, but after the fifth or so turn he was completely lost. Where were they going?

His shoulders were beginning to ache; he guessed Lucy wasn't doing any better. It felt hot and stuffy underneath that sack, and he was so tired.

Finally, there was the sound of a heavy door opening, then Desmond was shoved roughly forward, just barely keeping his feet. A thud told him that Lucy had followed, and she couldn't stay up.

"Lucy!" Desmond cried desperately, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the bag. He bent double, and managed to get it up to his chin before he was grabbed and straightened up, the sack pulled back down.

"No talking," a guard growled at him. "And don't move."

Imagining a thousand different rooms they could be in - disinfecting chambers, nails sticking out from the walls, a hall that never ended and he was doomed to wander aimlessly - Desmond stiffened until the door was re-opened, and a new set of footsteps echoed on what he assumed was cement.

The steps approached him, and the bag flicked off his head. Blinking, Desmond's eyes only adjusted when the man had turned around and was pulling the sack off of Lucy.

Unable to stop himself, Desmond stared around the room. It was about twenty by twenty feet, walls of solid concrete. Lights, flickering, were embedded in the walls. The door they'd come in from was to his left - a heavy metal thing - and he was standing roughly in the centre of the room. Twisting his head, he couldn't help but notice the two long pieces of wood next to each other about three feet to his right, and tried to figure out what they could possibly be for. A two-by-four, protruding from the ceiling and extending straight to the floor, made up the body of the device. A thinner piece of wood was attached to the top third, stretching a foot away from the two-by-four in either direction. And the more Desmond stared at it, the more it began to look like a crucifix.

While he hadn't been paying attention, the man turned back toward him. "Mr Miles."

That voice. Slowly, Desmond looked back to find Warren Vidic standing in front of him, new worry lines on his face.

Vidic held up a finger. "I will give you _one _chance to tell me: where is the temple?"

Stunned, Desmond blinked, and could only reply, "What?"

The Templar looked at his employees with hard eyes and gave a nod. Three darted forward and grabbed Desmond, pulling him toward a cross. The handcuff on one of his hands was removed, looped around the two-by-four, then re-attached.

Only two seconds earlier he'd been standing by himself. Now he was awkwardly half-standing, his hands above his head and bound to a crucifix. He was unable to stand fully because his arms would be bent backwards, but he also couldn't sit without risk of his hands being torn off.

"I will ask one more time," Vidic said cooly. "Where is the Piece of Eden?"

"What the _hell _are you talking about?" Desmond hissed, thoroughly irritated now.

Vidic nodded at one of his employees, who entered one of the many doors leading off of this room, then came back with an object Desmond couldn't comprehend until it touched him and agony seared from the point of contact. It felt almost exactly like getting a tattoo, which he'd had experience with. It didn't make it hurt any less.

But Desmond grit his teeth, determined not to scream in front of Lucy, who was still on the ground, looking at the scene with wide eyes.

The guard circled around him, inspecting him with sharp blue eyes that looked almost inhuman. He held the stick close to Desmond's leg, and the Assassin felt himself coil away on instinct. The guard let out a short laugh then jabbed it forward into his victim's right thigh.

Desmond gasped as hot pain radiated up his leg. Then as it grew more intense, he found himself biting his lip and breathing deeply through his nose.

"Hmm.." Vidic puzzled, as of he were trying to figure out a crossword rather than the best way to torture someone. Then he nodded to the guard. "Turn it up."

Almost gleefully, the employee turned the end portion of his white stick. Desmond now felt like his leg was on fire. Panic enveloped his brain. _Get out,_ it was saying. _Get away! _But if he'd wanted to move, he should've done it sooner; his leg was spasming violently and didn't respond his commands.

He forgot to hold it in. The scream escaped from his lips, echoing harshly off the cement walls. Desmond bit his tongue and, panting, glared hard at Vidic.

The Templar stared back, then without looking away, called off his employee.

The pain lessened, but still lingered even after the device was removed. Desmond slumped as soon as it was gone, strength rapidly leaving.

"So, Mr Miles, care to tell me what I want to know?" Warren asked, pacing slowly around the wood.

"I... _don't_... know," Desmond managed, still breathing heavily. He stared at the floor, wanting nothing more than to sleep.

"That's enough for now," he heard Vidic mutter, whether to himself or a guard, Desmond didn't know. He felt himself being uncuffed from the cross and thrown into a cell that was surprisingly soft.

Slowly, he sat up, hands still chained behind his back. The cell was about seven by four, stretching back. A window, set high up, offered the only light source. Everything - the walls, ceiling, floors - was made of a soft, spongey material. The white hurt his eyes. He didn't notice what had happened to Lucy, though he assumed she was in a similar cell.

Desmond still couldn't figure out why the cell was padded. Probably so they wouldn't have to provide him with a bed. But he felt his eyes closing of their own accord whenever he tried to think, so he lay down awkwardly on his side and instantly drifted off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three now :3 I'm not done this yet, I just wanted to post it because it was way too long for a oneshot.**

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><p>Screams woke Desmond. For half a second, he panicked and instinctively twitched violently, his body's attempt to get a hand out in front of him.<p>

Bolting upright, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, Desmond strained his ears for any sounds. The door to his cell was made of a heavy metal, iron or lead, with no window and no discernible handle from his side.

The scream, muffled, penetrated through the door again. Desmond crawled on his knees to the door, sitting next to it. It wasn't too hard to guess who was screaming.

How could they do this? Wasn't there some law against torture? Even if there hadn't been, _how _could anyone with a shred of humanity put someone through so much pain that they screamed that loud?

Another scream, during which Desmond curled his knees up to his chest, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around them, make himself feel as small as possible. Maybe then the screams would go right past him.

A click, and his door was swung open, flooding light into the room. Before he even had time to react, guards swarmed on Desmond and dragged him to the main room. Lucy was chained to one of the crosses, panting hard, pain written on her face. He was shackled next to her in a matter of seconds.

Even though it had only been a day, Lucy looked even worse than he felt. Her hair was out of its bun and fell, wavy, around her face. She was breathing heavily, and didn't look at him, instead focusing on something on the wall he couldn't see. There were burn marks on her bare arms.

Vidic apparently didn't feel like attending their torture session that day; only a handful of guards were present, and each had a gun and a walkie attached to their belt.

One quickly established himself as their leader. It was the same blond man that had caused Desmond so much hurt earlier. While most of the guards just stood around looking threatening, he was the one who began the pain.

"She refuses to tell me," he said harshly, shooting a sharp look toward Lucy. He had a heavy accent, which Desmond couldn't quite place. Maybe Dutch. "So why don't you spare her the pain and spit it out?" His name tag read _Mijls_. Why did he have a name tag?

Up close, Mijls looked much less intimidating; Desmond decided it was the pale freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks. It make him look young. But his eyes were hard and cold as ice, making him look so intimidating it cancelled out his eyes.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Desmond stole a quick glance at Lucy. "Please, just let us go."

Mijls barked out a laugh. "_Please_? I expected more from you Assassins. You're actually _pleading _with me to let you go!"

"Might as well try," Desmond hissed, stung. "I figured you Templars are so retarded you'd just let me go if I asked!"

Mijls' hand whipped across his face, sending his head to the right. Desmond blinked, his left eye watering like mad, cheek on fire. Slowly, he turned his head back to Mijls.

"You are in _no_ position to be insulting me," Mijls growled. "Or are _Assassins _so retarded that they can't figure that out?"

"Stop it!" Lucy was now glaring daggers at the guard, hair falling messily over most of her face.

"Ah, she speaks," Mijls purred, moving closer to the blonde, pushing her hair gently away from her face. To her credit, Lucy tossed her head around, trying to get him to stop touching her. When he didn't stop, she positioned her head like a snake waiting to strike, and then when the time was right, bit down hard on his hand.

"Ow!" Mijls cried, then brought his hand up to hit her. "You bitch—!"

"Leave her alone!" Desmond hissed. Without missing a beat, Mijls grinned, changed course, and slapped the bartender again.

Desmond never knew a slap could hurt so much. His cheek now felt like it was on fire, and both his eyes began to water.

"This is illegal, you know!" Lucy spat. "You can't _torture _people to get information out of them!"

"Oh, no?" Mijls leaned down so his face was directly in front of Lucy. "Why don't you ask your American government. I hear they're quite fond of torturing innocent Arab men to get why they want."

"But that's different!" Lucy looked flustered now. "They're _terrorists_, hiding dangerous weapons that could destroy the entire planet!"

"And are _you _really so different?" Mijls whispered. Without giving Lucy a chance to answer, he spun around and strode into a different room, presumably to come back.

"Lucy," Desmond breathed, thankful for a chance to finally talk to her. The other guards in the room didn't appear to notice him. "Are you okay? What did he do to you?"

Lucy looked at him now, face set in a determined expression. "Nothing I can't deal with."

"Here it is!" Mijls strode back into the room. He didn't appear to be carrying anything, and there was nothing different about him, until he nodded to a few of the guards. "Uncuff him and take his shirt off."

Desmond cringed. This couldn't end well. His cuffs were unlocked and he stood up gratefully, thankful the pain in his leg wasn't preventing him from locking his knees.

As a guard approached him, Desmond turned on Eagle Vision. The correct door - his only way out of there - was glowing. It wanted him to leave.

Three or four guards surrounded him. Desmond's eyes flicked from one to the other, and a look of confusion crossed the face of one.

"Hey, what's wrong with his—?" The employee didn't finish his sentence; Desmond grabbed his throat and slammed him to the ground. There was a _crack _and blood began to seep out.

As Desmond spun around, he heard a faint "No!" from Lucy, but ignored it. He was getting out of there.

The other guards were still stunned, and hadn't reacted yet. Desmond jumped on two more and snapped their necks before Mijls grabbed him by the back of his shirt and thrust him face-first into the concrete wall, hitting the Assassin's nose hard against it.

Desmond struggled, until two other guards pinned down his arms. His foot found the leg of one and brought him down, but another replaced him, more careful.

Mijls spun him around, slamming his back against the wall, then thrust his face into Desmond's. "You're lucky I need you alive," the Templar hissed. In one fluid motion, he unzipped Desmond's hoodie, then pulled it down past his shoulders and over his hands until it lay on the ground.

Over Mijls' shoulder, Desmond made eye contact with Lucy. Out of the Templars' watch, she looked terrified. His eyes flicked to the marks on her arms, and it clicked. Why else would Mijls want his shirt off? He needed as much bare skin as possible. So he could burn it.

Mijls noticed the Assassin's point of view, and grinned. Slowly, he stepped back. "Take off your shirt."

Desmond glared.

"Do it or I'll do it for you," the Templar hissed, accent growing thicker with impatience and anger.

Deciding it wasn't worth it to shoot back a snide remark, Desmond slowly pulled his shirt over his head, then dropped it next to his sweater. A couple guards stepped forward to re-cuff him, but Mijls held up his hand. "No. I want to see him run like a frightened rabbit."

Desmond glared some more. Mijls withdrew a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, pulled one out and stuck it in his mouth, then offered the box to his prisoner, who kept glaring.

"Ah, good choice," Mijls said around the cigarette. "You're - what - twenty-five? Best not to ruin your lungs this early." He replaced the pack, then pulled out a lighter. He flicked it a couple times, trying to get a flame, then at last lit the cigarette.

Mijls took a deep drag, then blew out the smoke into Desmond's face. The Assassin had always hated the smell of cigarettes.

"Now," Mijls said, taking another breath. "Care to tell me where the Apple is?"

"We never found it!" Desmond said harshly. "So why don't you—?"

"Shut it," Mijls hissed. "It was a 'no' or a 'the Apple is here' question. I did not ask your opinion."

After a couple seconds, he decided, "I don't believe you."

"Come on!" Lucy was suddenly screaming. "Do you think we'd _lie_? You're fucking _torturing _us!"

Mijls whipped around, strode over to Lucy, and slapped her, hard enough that a dazed look passed through her eyes, and she slumped her head to the side. Apparently she still wanted to see what was going on.

Desmond's eyes flicked to the guards around him, and he wondered how many he could take out before Mijls noticed. However, the Templar noticed, and pulled his gun from its holster, training it at the Assassin.

"Just so you know, I won't hesitate to kill you if you try anything."

"I thought you needed me alive," Desmond retorted.

Mijls shrugged. "I figure it takes only one of you to talk. I'm sure Dr Vidic won't mind if there's one less Assassin on this Earth." He took a slow step forward, within arm's reach of Desmond, cigarette in one hand and gun in the other. Desmond was trying to decide which one he was more afraid of.

Mijls thrust his left hand forward and grazed Desmond's chest with the lit cigarette. The Assassin immediately jumped backward, but hit a wall. The Templar grinned and slowly pushed the cigarette into his victim's shoulder. It burned, but Desmond just squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to give Mijls the satisfaction of a scream, nor wanting to panic Lucy.

He heard a practically inhuman growl in front of him, and before he could open his eyes, his head was pushed back - _hard - _and his skull cracked against the concrete.

Desmond's eyes shot open with the adrenaline rush, but then quickly drooped again as the full extent of the hit reached his brain. He struggled to stay on his feet, so leaned against the wall instead. Mijls stood over him, rage in his eyes, and Desmond was very sure he was about to die. He shut his eyes again, not wanting to see, but then Mijls grunted, and the Assassin felt the sensation of being dragged, then he was thrown on something soft. His mind was reeling, trying to recover in case something happened. Too much thinking, apparently. He passed out.


	4. Chapter 4

Light passed over his eyelids. Desmond moaned and rolled over, trying to escape the sun.

"...Desmond?" a tentative voice asked him.

Slowly, Desmond pried his eyes open. He was back in his cell, the sun shining directly on his face through the small window. Lucy was on her knees in front of him.

"Ugh." He winced, then sat up, an effort in itself. The room blurred, then came back into focus, and his head was pounding. The comfort of the floor made him feel better, though; he assumed it was easier than sitting on concrete, and again the reason for the plush room crossed his mind.

He glanced at Lucy, and the reason for her presence also crossed his mind. Why wasn't she in her own cell?

"What're you doing here?" As he asked, her face changed from concern to relief back to concern.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "That guard's slap dazed me too. I didn't pass out, but I don't remember what they said to me. I _think _they put me in here to make sure you didn't die or something."

Desmond turned his body towards her, noticing with surprise that his hands weren't bound. Lucy's hands were behind her back, though; she wasn't so lucky.

"How long have I been out?" he asked.

Lucy shrugged. "Not sure. Two hours, maybe?"

That meant they'd been here for a day and a half. The thought made Desmond sick—and hungry. His stomach suddenly realized how empty it was, and began to howl.

He wrapped his arms around his midsection, pressing hard, stopping the noise. "Are they just going to let us starve?"

"Oh—you haven't found it yet?" Lucy tilted her head at him, then looked around. "Let's see..." She rose awkwardly with no hands to push herself up, then wandered over to the far wall of the cell. She stopped under the window, then pushed her shoulder against the padded wall.

A section of the wall, about as big as a doorframe, slid back and then to the right, revealing a dark room. Desmond pulled himself to his feet, careful not to topple over, then followed Lucy as she walked in.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, bright, artificial lights flickered on, hurting Desmond's head even more.

This room was made of foam as well, only about three by four feet - it was tight getting both he and Lucy in - and on the far wall, there was a solitary toilet, made of steel, with no water in it. There was no sink, no shower. Just a toilet.

"Is that it?" Desmond asked, though that toilet did look awfully tempting; his bladder had just seemed to realize it was in need as well.

"If your room is the same as mine, then no." Lucy padded out of the room, Desmond following. The door slid shut behind them, and he made a mental note of its location.

"There should be something..." Lucy had moved to the wall on her right, and started pushing against it with her shoulder. A click, and then another panel slid back.

This room couldn't even be called a room; it was set about a foot back into the wall, with a solitary shelf up to about waist height. The shelf currently contained some sort of off-white, liquidy paste that Desmond assumed was food. Or lumpy glue. Next to the plate was a plastic water bottle, no cap.

"Is that...?" Desmond asked warily, approaching the also-plastic plate.

"Food." Lucy nodded, smiling. "Go ahead."

There was no spoon; Desmond picked up the paste with his fingers and slurped it down, not caring what it was or what it tasted like. Eating felt so _good_.

He happened to glance at Lucy; she was staring at the food with such intensity that it made him stop. "What's the matter?" he asked, looking up at her.

She shook her head. "I guess the amount of food you get is based on calorie intake... You're bigger than me, so you get more, but..." A longing gaze crossed her eyes as she looked; clearly what she'd gotten wasn't enough to fill her up.

Desmond held up the plate. "Have some."

Lucy backed up a step and shook her head. "It's yours."

"You're starving," he countered, standing.

"It's not just that..." She never took her eyes off the paste. "My hands are bound so I have to..." She bent her head down and mimed eating off a plate, like a dog. "I'd rather do it alone."

"Oh." Desmond replaced the plate, not wanting to make Lucy feel worse than she already did, and instead picked up the bottle. "Here, have some water."

"Thanks." She smiled gratefully, then tilted her head back as Desmond poured a small stream of water into her mouth, then took a sip himself.

"Why no cap?" he wondered aloud.

"How would _you _get a cap off with no hands?" she asked him. "And even if you were uncuffed, you could choke on it."

"What kind of a moron would—?" Desmond began to laugh at the oddness of it all, but Lucy shot him a sharp look.

"Not by accident. Why do you think... Sixteen did what he did? Being cooped up for too long can do things to a person.

"If all you have to wake up to is the thought of another day of torture, would _you _want to stop sleeping?" she asked, voice hard.

And suddenly it all made sense. The foam room so you couldn't bash your head open. No utensils for self-injury. The lack of water in the toilet to eliminate drowning. Plastic plate and water bottle; too soft to do any real brain damage.

"But..." Desmond was stunned. "Surely you could suffocate yourself in this foam? It must be just like a pillow being held over your face."

Lucy shook her head. "Try it."

Feeling slightly crazy, Desmond planted his face in the wall. To his utter shock, he found he could breathe quite normally. He backed away from the wall.

"Specially insulated padding," Lucy muttered. "I've seen the plans for it. I just never had any idea what it could possibly be used for.

"This whole cell was Vidic's design," she added, motioning with her head around the room. "He always loved watching people try to figure out what was right in front of him." She nodded to the corner to the right of the entrance. "And he's probably been watching _you _for a while; I figured mine out quite quickly." There was a camera, so small Desmond hadn't noticed it at first. He glared at it, then turned back to Lucy.

"Can he hear what we're saying?"

She shrugged. "Probably. He'd want to make it easier, see if we say anything we shouldn't."

"Come with me," he muttered, pulling her by the arm to where he knew the bathroom was. He opened the panel, then led her in, letting go of her arm when they were inside.

"No cameras in here?" he asked. "It _is _a bathroom, after all."

She shrugged again, then looked around. "I don't see one. There might be a microphone, though," she warned him, giving him a dangerous look.

Desmond stared at her desperately; there were so many questions he wanted to ask, but he guessed many of them would get him a punch to the jaw, so he settled on, "Where are we?"

Lucy sighed. "I have no idea. The Animus level was on the fourth floor, and judging by the lack of any buildings outside the window, I'd say we're much higher than that. I've never actually been through half of our building."

Though Desmond wanted to know more, the burning sensation in his bladder prevented him from asking. "Do you mind...?" He gestured to the toilet.

"Oh!" Lucy's cheeks turned slightly red. "Of course, sorry."

It seemed the room knew when people were still in it; no matter how Desmond tried, he couldn't get the door to close while he was in the bathroom. He attempted jumping out into the main room, then slipping back in while the door was closing, but even then it sensed his presence and stopped short of crushing him, another suicide protection measure most likely.

"It's _fine_," Lucy assured him. "It's not like I'm going to watch or anything."

So she faced the corner while he finally relieved himself. It was the best thing he had ever done in front of a toilet.

There was no sink, no shower, only an automatic hand sanitiser that dispensed a minuscule amount, barely enough to cover his hands. Desmond tried to ask it for more, but it had locked up, and wouldn't dispense again for another two hours. He sighed and moved back into the main room.

"Ow," he muttered, bringing a hand to his head. For the first time, he noticed there was a small pool of blood where he'd slept.

"Hey, Lucy...?" he asked slowly, turning toward her.

* * *

><p>Desmond jolted awake, and for half a second he thought he'd gone blind, until he saw small patches of moonlight on the wall he was facing.<p>

His head was absolutely pounding; it felt like someone had taken an axe to his brain.

Even more than that was an intense feeling of hunger. So had he just imagined his meal? Was there really no toilet in this godforsaken room?

Struggling with the effort, Desmond rolled himself onto his back and sat up slowly, eyes nearly rolling back into his head as a wave of dizziness hit him.

Lucy was sitting against the wall, asleep, and Desmond could just barely make out the woman he knew under the burn marks that covered her face, neck, and arms.

So he hadn't been dreaming. But was there more food? Desmond looked longingly at where he guessed the panel to be that held the only nutrition he was going to get. Still, he worried that standing up would cause him to pass out again.

"Lucy!" he whispered, but then shut his mouth. Her hands were still bound; how would she even get the food out?

_Slowly, _he commanded himself. First he went to his knees, then took a knee, before hesitantly straightening his legs and standing. Dizziness swept his vision, and he put a hand on the wall to support himself, but after it had passed he felt fine.

Finally, he made his way to the opposite wall and pushed on the panel. It slid back, and there was glorious food. And there was even a piece of brown bread.

Desmond eagerly ate the paste and drank some water, but set the plate with bread and half the bottle of water on the ground.

"Lucy," he whispered again, a little gentler. His hand went out to touch her arm.

Lucy jerked awake and whipped her body around, scrambling backwards with her feet, but with her hands bound there was nothing to support her body; she fell awkwardly on her side, elbow holding up her torso.

She glared up at him. "The _fuck_, Desmond!"

"Uh... Want some bread?" he asked lamely, holding up the plate.

Instantly her eyes softened and she pushed herself back up so she was sitting against the wall again. "It's yours," she insisted.

"I already ate the rest, don't worry." Desmond lowered himself down beside her, crossing his legs with the plate in front of him. It was at that moment he realized he still wasn't wearing a shirt.

He broke off a small piece of bread and held it up. "Open your mouth."

Lucy bit her lip, trying decide on being fed or starving. She chose the former, and slowly her lips parted. Desmond placed the bread on her tongue, and her eyes widened. She chewed and swallowed, sighing with relief.

"I think that's the best bread I've ever had," she said, grinning widely.

Desmond smiled back and have her another piece. He fed her the entire slice, all the while wondering how long this would last before they could get out.


	5. Chapter 5

"You stupid fucking _cunt_!" Mijls' hand struck Lucy's face yet again. She glared up at him, nose and lip bleeding.

Meanwhile, Desmond was screaming his head off as he thrashed around, trying to get off the cross he was chained to.

It had been - or what he assumed to be - a week, and since that one night, Lucy hadn't been in his cell again. Apparently Vidic thought Desmond's head hadn't sustained any major damage, so he wouldn't need anyone looking after it.

"Shut _up_!" Mijls hissed at Desmond, pulling out his gun and hitting the Assassin with its butt, quite hard, on his temple. Desmond's eyes rolled back, and his head slumped with the force of the blow. His head was constantly hurting now; Mijls thought it was the most effective place to hit someone.

"Now _tell me where it is_!" Mijls screamed in Lucy's face, losing it. Desmond looked up slightly to see a blurry Lucy staring up at the Templar defiantly, her mouth tightly shut.

"Stupid bitch," Mijls growled, hitting her once more for good measure, then turned to Desmond. "She's been trained not to speak under torture, no? _You _left before that could happen, if I understand correctly."

Before Desmond could react - he wasn't even expecting it - Mijls whipped out a switchblade and sunk it into the Assassin's right shoulder. Desmond howled, mostly from surprise than pain, as blood began to seep out. He heard a gasp from Lucy.

Mijls let go of the handle, leaving the blade buried in Desmond's arm. "Now what will you do?"

It was really starting to _hurt_. Desmond started to buck his shoulders, trying to dislodge the blade, gritting his teeth and glaring at Mijls the whole time, who just grinned.

"Get... this... thing... out... of... me," Desmond managed after about thirty seconds. He could feel the muscles in his shoulder starting to rip, and feared any damage might be permanent. Not to mention the fucking _agonizing pain_.

Mijls rolled his eyes. "Pussy." The word sounded strange with his accent. Then he leaned forward and ripped the knife out; blood spurted onto his face and Desmond gasped audibly.

Mijls nodded to a guard, who produced a roll of duct tape - _duct _tape! - and wrapped it around the wound. Apparently Assassins weren't deserving of gauze. Desmond knew it would hurt like hell if he tried to take it off, especially with a healing wound.

Lucy had been watching this whole time, a furious expression on her face. Desmond could tell she was starting to get fed up.

Mijls thrust his face into Lucy's again, and she withdrew, still glaring.

"Where. Is. It. You stupid fucking cunt," he hissed again. Lucy didn't answer for a few seconds, and he slapped her.

"I don't know!"

"Liar!" He hit her again. "Where's the Apple?"

"I don't know!" She was beginning to cry, whether from the force of the hit or the severity of the pressure she was under, Desmond didn't know.

Now Mijls balled his hand into a fist and punched Lucy in the cheek, his temper overflowing. Desmond gasped and tried to wrestle free, but he found the pain radiating from his shoulder to be too much and slumped, watching in despair.

Lucy's cheek was cut and was now bleeding along with her nose and lip. Her brave demeanour had melted away and she was now struggling away from the blows crossing her face over and over. Relentless.

Mijls was just hitting her, his face a mask of rage. Desmond, still stunned, could only watch as Lucy became more bloodied with each blow.

"Please..." Lucy whispered through bleeding lips. Mijls ignored her.

Another guard stepped up and put his hand on Mijls' shoulder, causing the Templar to stop, breathing hard.

"Jacob, that's enough," the guard said softly.

Mijls took a deep breath, then shook his head and left the room, waving his hand dismissively. "Put them back in their cells."

"No..." Desmond needed to help Lucy. She was going to bleed to death, especially since she seemed to be half-passed out.

"No!" he shrieked as he was taken down. "Lucy!" They threw him in his cell.

Then it was dark.

* * *

><p>Desmond threw himself at the door for a few minutes, bouncing his good shoulder off it, screaming bloody murder. He guessed that since he could hear Lucy screaming through the door all those mornings ago, the guards outside his cell <em>must<em>'ve been able to hear him, but either they weren't listening or they didn't care, because no one came to the door.

Desmond collapsed, breathing heavily. "Fuck!" he hissed, needing to get some frustration out.

He kicked himself back so he could see the camera, and glared at it, hating Templars.

"Hey, Vidic!" he cried. "You'd better listen, and listen well. Lucy used to work for you; you guys worked together. I've only been working with her for two weeks now, and I've come to like her. You two have been working together for _years_. So you're just going to let her bleed? Let me help her."

He waited, pretty proud of his little speech. Nothing happened.

"Dammit," he muttered, then sat against a wall. Longingly, he looked at the panel where the bathroom was. He finally understood what Lucy had said about suicide-proofing the room.


End file.
